


the run and go

by mishcollin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishcollin/pseuds/mishcollin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas makes a list. Dean is Yoda, and Sam is unimpressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the run and go

It’s after a week of Castiel sulking and generally being miserable that Dean slaps down a piece of a paper and a pen on the kitchen table in front of him.

Castiel stares uncomprehendingly at it a moment then peers up at Dean. “What’s this?”

“You think being human sucks so bad? Fine. I’m gonna show you just how awesome it is.” Dean’s voice is forcedly optimistic, and Castiel knows that it’s for his own sake and is grateful. “Write down the top 5 things you want to learn as a human, and I’ll teach you how to do them.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Yup, I am.” Dean’s eyes brighten and he grins. “Hey, I can be like your, uh, your human Yoda.”

This, Castiel thinks, cannot go well.

**1\. Learn to drive.**

“No. Nuh-uh. Abso _lute_ ly not,” Dean says when he reads the first item on Castiel’s list.

“You said anything,” Castiel argues.

“Well, yeah, but not when that anything involves putting Baby at risk. Sorry, Cas, but she’s the only car we’ve got to train you on right now and you’re still a little under the weather.”

“Dean,” Castiel says with a huff, drawing himself up, “I’ve lived since the dawn of earthly time and you’re telling me I can’t learn to operate a metal cage on wheels?”

“ _Hey!_ Definitely not with that attitude, you’re not! Rule number one, trash-talk the car and you’re in the backseat.”

Castiel isn’t quite sure, then, how they end up on an abandoned road in Lebanon with Castiel behind the wheel and a squirming Dean in the front seat.

“Alright,” Dean says. “Brake’s on the left, gas is on the right. Know those two pedals like your life depends on it, because…because, well, it does.”

Castiel shifts his foot back and forth between the pedals, testing. “Got it.”

“Okay, first step is start the car.”

Castiel fumbles for the ignition while Dean heaves a martyred sigh. Castiel locates it, and he jumps when the car rumbles to life; it seems louder than it usually is, somehow.

“Alright, good, we’re not dead yet. Now, see this?”

Castiel follows Dean’s hands attentively, nodding, for some reason feeling self-conscious as he senses Dean’s gaze on him.

“This is the gear shift. The only gears you really need to know right now are Park, Reverse, and Drive. You’re gonna put her in drive.”

Castiel obeys, and the car lurches forward. Startled, Castiel slams on the brakes, sending both him and Dean catapulting forward.

“Dude!” Dean says, alarmed, seeming to notice Castiel’s nervousness for the first time.”Calm down, alright? Not even Sammy was this bad, and I threatened him with castration.”

“I know, Dean. It’s just…” There are a few moments of silence while Dean waits in confusion and the car rumbles. “I know how important this car is to you; it’s like your soul. So letting me drive it is equivalent to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles, “no chick flick moments in the car, alright? Shut up and drive.”

Castiel swallows and obeys, sending the Impala down the road at 15 miles per hour. Soon, after a few moments without trouble, Castiel ups the speed to 30, and then, more confident, 45.

“You’re doing great, Cas,” Dean encourages from beside him, and Castiel smiles, pleased at the praise.

Dean rolls the windows down and punches the radio dial as Castiel accelerates to 60, only to jerk the car violently sideways when a loud guitar chord erupts from the speakers. Dean laughs at Castiel’s reaction and slides sunglasses up the bridge of his nose.

“ _In the days of my youth I was told what it means to be a man_ ,” Dean crows, grinning over at Castiel, the waning sunlight fracturing in behind him, and for the first time since he fell, Castiel feels well and completely happy. Liberated, in nothing more than Dean Winchester, an old car, and a worn-out Led Zeppelin tape.

This, he thinks, this he could get used to.

**2\. Shave.**

“Dude,” Dean says, shaking his head as they appraise themselves in front of the large bathroom mirror. “You would’ve had to do this anyway.”

“I want to learn it from you. I feel like you’ll make fun of me less than Sam would.”

“Damn straight,” Sam says from the doorway of the bathroom.

“Don’t be so sure,” Dean says. “Here, hold out your hand.”

Castiel complies and Dean squirts a pile of foam into his outstretched hand.

“That’s shaving cream. You put it on like this.” Castiel watches in fascination as Dean begins applying it to his face, lathering his cheekbones, his chin, his upper lip, and his neck. Castiel follows suit.

“You guys look like morons,” Sam says with nearly unmasked glee from the doorway.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean and Cas say, and Sam puts up his hands in insulted surrender and leaves.

Dean glances over at Castiel and seems to hide a grin.

“You’re making fun of me,” Castiel says, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m not making fun of you,” Dean replies, clearly brokering a laugh. “You just…you just look like a homicidal Santa Claus, that’s all.”

“I’ll call Sam back in here.”

“God, no.” Dean puts a razor in his hand. “That’s a razor. Careful, it’s sharp.”

Castiel gives him such an exasperated look that Dean almost flinches.

“Sorry, I was just warning you!” he says, defensive, and Cas answers, “Dean, I cut a sigil into my chest with a box cutter. I think I know how sharp a razor is.”

Dean makes a snarky face at him and turns back to the mirror. “Alright, fine. You’re gonna go with the grain, like this.” Castiel watches as Dean places the edge of the razor at the crest of his cheekbone and drags down, leaving a clear stripe. He does this a few more times before turning on the sink and washing the hair off the blade.

“You see?” Dean asks, turning to meet Castiel’s eyes only to find that Castiel is already staring at him attentively.

“Yes,” Castiel says, quickly breaking eye contact and turning back to the mirror. “I see.”

It’s a long, slow process, with Dean finished much sooner and with much less cuts than Castiel, but eventually the two of them are standing in front of the mirror beardless, both experimentally stroking their smooth skin.

“Cas,” Dean says, affectionately, “we are two handsome sons of bitches.”

Sam guffaws incredulously from outside the bathroom.

**3\. Cook something.**

“What something do you have in mind?” Dean asks, frowning at the list.

“I like egg sandwiches,” Castiel says honestly.

“Well, egg sandwich it is.”

“Make me one,” Sam says, looking over Dean’s shoulder curiously at the list. “Did Dean seriously let you drive his car?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, a bit proudly, while Dean replies, “He wasn’t half-bad.”

“Did he threaten you with castration?”

“Tarring and feathering, actually.”

“Alright, Cas,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “You’re over here with me. First you have to turn on the stove.”

Castiel, much to everyone’s surprise, picks up on cooking more quickly than either driving or shaving.

“Damn, Cas, you’re a pro,” Sam marvels from where he’s watching at the kitchen table. “Dean might have competition.”

Castiel glances up challengingly at Dean as he flips the egg.

“I highly doubt that,” Dean says, but as he watches Castiel flip the egg a third time, he looks like he highly doubts that.

A sleeve of bread and a half-empty jar of mayonnaise later, Castiel closely watches Sam and Dean’s reactions to the food, drumming his fingers on the table expectantly.

“Holy shit, Cas, this is really good,” Sam says through a mouthful of food, while Dean looks quietly amazed.

“Yeah,” Dean says a few moments later, looking briefly to Castiel. “Good job, Cas.” And he turns back to eating.

And if Castiel’s eyes linger a little longer on Dean than they should…well, no one has to know.

**4\. Do the laundry.**

Dean has to run errands, so he entrusts this job with Sam before he leaves.

“Don’t fuck him up,” he says somberly to Sam, who huffs and looks more tired than usual.

“Aha, yeah. I’ll try not to. Come on, Cas.”

Sam leads Castiel down into the basement of the bunker and then to the laundry room, where a newly installed washer and dryer whir from the corner of the room.

“It looks like there are already loads going, but we can take it out and start a new one,” Sam says, moving toward the washer.

“Are you alright, Sam?” Castiel asks searchingly as Sam stoops to scoop sopping clothes out from the bin.

“What?” Sam asks in surprise. “Yeah, Cas, I’m fine.”

“You look sick and exhausted,” Castiel informs him in concern. “Please, Sam, tell me what’s going on.”

Sam gazes at him for a few moments impassively before he takes a deep sigh that seems to rattle his whole (and not inconsiderable) frame. “Laundry first.”

He shows Castiel how to first separate lights and darks (“Although you don’t always have to do this, it’s just to be really sure that none of your underwear turns out pink.”), and then to put in detergent and softener into their allotted slots (“whoa, whoa, not that much, Cas! Only a lid’s worth.”), and then how to adjust the temperature settings.

They sit on the bench opposite the washing machine, and Castiel watches the cycling of the clothes through the window as he waits for Sam to gather his thoughts.

“I feel…awful,” Sam whispers, his voice parched.

“Why?” Castiel asks. “The effects of the trials?”

“Well, there’s that. But, I mean…” He pauses for a moment, his shoulders hunching, before he whispers, “I could’ve stopped it _all_. I could’ve shut every demonic son of a bitch back in the Pit and I walked free just because Dean asked me to. More people are gonna die and get hurt because of me.” Sam clasps his hands and bows his head, his massive shoulders tense. “I can’t live with another burden like that, Cas. I just, I can’t.”

“No one expected you to sacrifice your life for the trials, Sam.”

“God did.”

“Yeah, well, God’s a dick.”

Sam peers up at Castiel, half-amused and half-wearied.

“And on top of that,” Sam says a moment later. His Adam’s apple clicks as he seems to hesitate, and then he says in a rush, “After all this, I still feel _unclean_.”

Castiel releases a long sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Sam, I’m not an angel anymore, so there’s no way for me to tell if the demon blood has been completely purged from your system. But I can tell you this: God, the God I know? He doesn’t care. He sees the goodness in you, the selflessness of your past acts, and in that way, you are pure. You are a good man, Sam. No amount of Azazel’s poison can alter that.”

Sam glances up at him, and Castiel notices tears trembling on the edges of his eyelids. “I thought you didn’t believe in God anymore.”

“I do,” Castiel demurs, folding his arms as he sits back. “I do believe he’s out there somewhere. I still think he’s a dick though.”

Sam gives a shaky laugh, and after a moment of nothing but the washer thumping and the dryer purring, he says, quietly, “Thank you, Cas.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For everything you’ve done for Dean and me. If you didn’t know before now, just know that Dean and I—especially Dean—are grateful, even if he won’t admit it.”

Cas inclines his head, humbled. “You’re welcome, Sam.”

“And thanks for letting me talk about my feelings like a fifth-grade girl,” he says sheepishly a moment later. “I can see why Dean likes talking to you.”

Castiel smiles at this, inexplicably warmed.

“Alright,” Sam says abruptly, standing and stretching and crackling through the tension. “Now for the dryer.”

**5\. Get wasted.**

“Aw yeah, I can definitely get down with this,” Dean says with a wide, impish grin as he reads the last entry scrawled on the list. “Cas, you have good taste in activities.”

“Dear God,” Sam says.

This is how Dean and Cas find themselves sitting opposite of each other on the sofa, six shot glasses lined up on the coffee table and a full bottle of whiskey perched beside them.

“You sure you don’t want to join us, Sam?” Dean calls out, waggling his eyebrows as his younger brother walks past.

“Uh, no, I think I’ll pass,” Sam says, shaking his head incredulously. “Why aren’t you taking him to a club or something, Dean?”

Dean shrugs. “Cas wanted to stay here.”

“Alright. Just don’t…puke on anything.”

Dean lobs a pillow at Sam before he ducks out of sight. “Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam answers from down the hallway.

Dean gets up to put on a Rolling Stones record while Castiel fills the shotglasses.

“Now don’t overdo yourself,” Dean says, sinking down onto the cushions as music starts up from the player. “You’re newly human now, and—”

Castiel ignores him and takes a shot, wincing at the taste but relishing both the pleasant burn in his stomach and the look on Dean’s face. Dean stares at him in amazement for a moment before a wide grin splits his features.

“Wasting no time, eh?” Dean asks. “Well, no way in fuck are you getting drunk faster than I am.”

This proclamation somehow spirals into a ridiculous game called “Never Have I Ever”, which Dean seems to enjoy and Castiel quickly picks up on. Four shots later, Dean and Cas are engaged in all-out warfare.

“Never have I ever met Cain and Abel.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

Dean cackles and rocks back into his laughter, clapping his hands in mirth as Castiel takes a shot with a grimace. “Whoo, I’m gonna win this fish, line and sinker.”

Feeling emboldened by the alcohol, Castiel leans forward with an eyebrow raised and says, “Never have I ever worn pink, satiny panties.”

All the glee is wiped straight from Dean’s face as the tips of his ears burn red as embers. “I—how did you—that is _confidential information!_ ”

Castiel just watches him expectantly until Dean mutters, “You _fucker_ ,” and takes a shot. Castiel laughs, feeling bright and giddy and a bit dizzy.

“Alright, I’ve got one. Never have I ever raised someone from hell and watched them sleep.”

“I did not _watch you sleep_.”

“Come on Cas, you totally did, don’t even try to deny it. I caught you like six times.”

“I was keeping your nightmares from hell away,” Castiel argues.

“Well, that’s sweet but it’s not getting you out of a shot. Go.”

Castiel knocks one back and retaliates, “Never have I ever been chased by a racist truck.”

“ _Fuck._ ” Shot. “Never have I ever witnessed the second coming of Christ!”

After a few more rounds and a few more provocative words, Dean and Castiel end up in a drunk wrestling match, in which Dean pins Castiel a good eight out of ten times, and after several moments of this, they sit beside each other, panting raggedly.

“Cas?” Dean says, his cheeks still flushed with laughter but his voice surprisingly serious. “I like you human.”

“I’m not sure if I like me human,” Castiel says dolefully, observing the way Dean’s hair sticks out in all directions from their fight.

“Well, I like you human. Maybe even better than I like you as an angel. Point is, doesn’t matter what species you are, you’re always…you’re always welcome with Sammy and me.” Dean’s words are slurring and he’s tilting sideways; if Castiel didn’t know better, he’d say Dean’s more intoxicated than he is. “Just…just.”

“Just what?”

“Just don’t leave again,” Dean whispers, eyes meeting Castiel’s with such vulnerability that Castiel’s stomach flips. “Please don’t leave me again. Stay here with Sam and me.”

“Of course,” Castiel finds himself saying, numbly. “Of course I’ll stay, Dean.”

“You’re my favorite, Cas, I mean it,” Dean says, slumping, and a few minutes later, he’s asleep.

Castiel stays awake for hours more, thinking and fighting toward sobriety with a soft, fond smile he can’t seem to erase no matter how hard he tries. 

And if Dean ends up sleeping with his head in Castiel’s lap, well, no one has to know.


End file.
